


Mara’s Mercy

by Something_Inconspicuous



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Companions, F/M, Gen, Multi, Nord, Tsundere, romance later probs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-04-01 11:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13997709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Something_Inconspicuous/pseuds/Something_Inconspicuous
Summary: Ellenor is a quiet girl who has faced much tragedy. It seems no matter where she goes, death follows. It has earned her a spot as an outcast. She accepted her life and sheltered herself away from others, dedicating herself to study and reflection. But one day, in the midst of her dealing with the death of her grandmother, another path comes crashing onto her doorstep. After a brief run-in with the Companions, Ellenor reconsiders what the future has in store for her. Will she be cursed forever to watch everyone around her die? Or will she gain the strength and skill to save them?





	1. Introduction

Breathless, haggard, the young woman mustered her feigning strength and charged again. She missed, again. Her opponent, though he stood a head taller and had the physique of a workhorse, managed to dodge each of her attacks with grace and skill. He was indeed a trained combatant. He had won her respect, but she refused to lose to him. Again.

But while her heart swelled with passion and purpose, her body grew weaker and her arm swung slower. She could not hide the sweat that tore clean paths through her otherwise dirtied and painted face. He knew she was near her end. And so with a sigh, he cut the test short. In one swift, precise strike to her shield, he sent her toppling. He lumbered over her, half-heartedly balanced his greatsword over her head to make it clear that he had won, then slung the thing into its sheath and walked away.

No one had come to watch this time. Not even the huntress, who had before expressed her excitement at the prospect of a new woman Companion, had bothered to watch the initiatory spar. Too many times had she been disappointed. So the two were alone in the grey, misty morning. Fumes from the waking fires of the smithies mixed with the smell of roasted pork belly, making both of the fighters hungry and all the more impatient. Vilkas had not planned to say anything, but apparently changing his mind, he turned on the woman who still sat in the dirt.

"Get up," he barked.

She picked herself up off the ground, no trace of disappointment or sadness in her eye. Her jaw only clenched, angry tears holding themselves back. She still had some ounce of dignity. She would not lose that, too.

"Why do you still bother with this? Why do you waste my time?" the dark-haired Nord said bitterly. It might be harsh, if they hadn't gone through this exact same thing 73 times in the past year.

The woman, as every time before, said nothing.

Vilkas slammed his fist against a wooden support beam, thankfully doing no real damage but still managing to channel all of his frustration and anger into one violent move. She could feel it. On instinct, she took a step back.

"Why do you want to be a Companion!" he growled, demanding an answer she did not, could not, give.

She only shook her head, looking all around them. The morning was glowing now. Birds were chittering. A soft breeze cooled their warm faces. Everyone in the city was by now well at work. None of this touched the man.

"Get away from our mead hall. And do not come back. I will refuse to see you," he said with finality.

The words stung, but she showed no proof of that. She sheathed her weapon and shield. With a heavy, exasperated breath, she did as she was ordered.

 

That evening, the woman opened the doors to her barn. The chatter of farm animals echoed throughout. She had come to see one goat in particular. The thing was nearing its end. When she was a child, an animal in its condition would be slaughtered and sold to beggars for a charitable price. Her father had shown her how to kill it humanely. She remembered each step in detail. As she approached its stall, she practiced in her head. But upon finally reaching it, she began to sweat and her breathing quickened. Her grip tightened, though she held nothing in her hands.

Looking the wretched thing in its eyes, she knelt down so that they were level with one another.

"Tell me, friend, you are not ready to die, are you?" she asked it quietly, reverently. The goat bleated dumbly, as if to say it had no idea what she meant by that.

With a sigh, she weighed her axe in her hand. Its purpose did not overcome its physical burden. She reached for the animal, ran her fingers through its coarse fur. It blinked unknowingly.

"If I cannot kill you, how can I kill a man?" she asked herself. Blinking back tears, she felt the frustration well up in her throat.

She cried out, spinning round to throw the axe into the dirt. She watched the dust billow up around it, catching the orange light of the evening so it looked as if a fire had erupted. This sent her into hysteria. In a fit of rage she held her hands over the creature and sent flames into the fur she had been petting moments ago. The goat cried in agony, suddenly standing up and running around the small area of the stall, causing the fire only to build and increase its pain. It rolled in the hay, sending the entire stall up in embers. The woman stepped back, horrified, watching it writhe and scream on the ground, slowly burning and dying. Her magic prevented nature from quelling the flame. It only stuck and grew more vicious, until the poor thing was nothing but charcoal.

The rest of the flame, seeing that the opponent was dealt with, dissipated with a hiss, leaving the woman alone in the dark. Her tears were streaming freely, her heart wrenched in her chest. She cried and sobbed, praying over the petty remains. She asked the gods' forgiveness again and again, crying out the names of her family in Sovngarde. Eventually her cries dwindled to sniffles, and there were no tears, but a soreness in the throat and a stiffness in the cheeks.

She could not kill. But she wanted justice. She hated blood, but she wanted to rid the world of its evils. She felt pathetic, weak. This woman wanted to be a Companion, and she couldn't even slaughter a goat without sending herself into a fit?

What's worse, the Companions had no room for magic in their ranks. But magic was her only strength. All she knew otherwise was her axe, but only for its purposes on the family farm.

Why she tried so hard to join the ranks of a guild that wanted nothing to do with her, anyone could guess. Be it stubbornness, passion, or dedication, it seemed to be a conviction she felt straight to the core that she was a warrior. Not only that, but one worthy of the Companions. And so, despite her tears, despite Vilkas' warning, despite every fiber of her being except for that burning one, she stepped out the next morning into the cold Nordic air and started the familiar trek to the city.

She walked slowly, almost leisurely, if it wasn't for the alertness in her eyes, scanning the landscape of her homeland as both an admirer and critic. She noted soft, swaying wheat that glistened like gold, and the snakes that she knew to take up the bales as refuge from the cold, waiting to nip the fingers of farmhands. She saw the bold, mountainous terrain, and thought of the wolves that used it to their advantage for ambush. Skyrim, the land she had always loved, was as dangerous as it was beautiful. Perhaps she wanted to make it safer for others, so that they would not have to worry, only gaze on its beauty as they walked its windy cobbled roads.

But Ellenor knew deep down that this would never happen. The land was so fraught with snakes and wolves, they would always remain no matter how long one tried to get rid of them. 

So why, really, was she doing this?


	2. Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A summary of Ellenor's past up to this point.
> 
> Edited 10/29/2018

Ellenor's mother didn't always fear her own child. When her daughter was born a small, red, tearful creature, she'd been nurturing. She would comfort the infant when it cried, coo at it until it smiled up at her. She would sing to her in her crib every night. She fed her, bathed her, loved her. And when her blond hair grew thick enough, she would tie it up in ribbons and bows and dress up her baby as well as a poor farmer's wife could, with what prettiest rags lay around. It was when Ellenor grew old enough to speak that her fears began, because Ellenor did not speak. But she had intelligent eyes, piercing straight to the soul. Without a word Ellenor would do strange things, unnatural for a child her age. Once at four years old she beckoned her mother to the river, and dipped her hands into its chill waters. She took her mother's hand and guided it to breach the water's moving surface. She would search her child's face to find her staring intently at her mother's hand, with no particular interest, as if she was merely confirming something she'd thought long on in her mind.

That look was what she feared the most, until some years later, at age seven, she did something that frightened her far more. Once, by the kitchen garden, Ellenor was sat next to two sparrows. It was the first time she'd heard her child speak, but it was not to any person. It was gibberish directed at the birds. Well, to be fair, any passerby may have interpreted it as an attempt at singing. But to Ellenor's mother, who knew her husband's mother, Ellenor's grandmother, to be a witch, the act was grounds to think her daughter was cursed to follow the same path.

The child was seldom allowed outside that day forth. She started doing more and more housework, until she was given almost all the indoor duties to keep her busy and away from her alleged craft.

"The fact is, some children are simply born with especial curiosity, which they do not realize to be directed at magic, but nature," writes an anonymous author on the subject of magical prodigy. "And it comes to the point at which these children exhibit behavior unnatural to most people, and rarely, unfortunately, their non-magical parents".

It was a shame that her mother did not realize Ellenor was not a budding witch, but a budding mage. But even that distinction may not have saved her. Magic in Skyrim was generally looked down on in the face of the skills of a warrior. Not to mention her father's past with it.

Ellenor's father had been just like her as a child, showing early signs of magical inclination. But his mother would not teach him to hone his skill, as her cult wanted nothing to do with the young male. Indeed, his mother was among the hagraven. She was a newer member, but learning fast, not yet turned to one of the creatures, but soon... She neglected her boy in favor of teaching herself their dark magic. He was only six or seven by this time. The loneliness, self-hatred, and confusion he faced in his developmental years would all be blamed on magic. He hated himself for being inclined to use it. He hated his mother for being so enraptured by it. He ran away from home the night his mother was to be turned into one of those witches. He couldn't bear to see her turned, and what's more he couldn't be sure what would become of him afterwards. Everything he did from that moment on was despite magic. Forgetting his mother, finding his place, and creating a whole family.

When he saw his daughter now struggle to cope with being imprisoned in her own home, he remembered his years being barred from society. He didn't want her to grow to hate her home as he had. Some nights he would pull Ellenor on his lap and ask her how the day had gone. What were her trials, how did she handle them, did she learn anything from it? She of course, said nothing. But he could tell from her body language and facial expression how the day had gone, and he would act accordingly. Sometimes it meant a tussling of the hair and a sitting down for supper. Other nights he would take her out to walk a wooded path so she could be with what she loved most: the cold, fresh air, the leaves, the light of the moon and stars, the sounds of the animals and insects, the smell of moisture on the grass. Those brief moments of rebellion against her mother's rule to stay inside were enough to keep Ellenor's spirit alive.

But when her father was pulled into her homeland's own rebellion, called away to join the Stormcloaks, she was left powerless. The house became almost too much to bear. Her mother never spoke to her, knowing she would not speak back. The house was quiet, dark, horrible. She never had the nerve to try and go outside on her own. Ellenor had forgotten sound until the day an unexpected knock came at their door. She had forgotten her mother's face until the woman stood at the door with her hand over her mouth, wet, like when it had come from the river. She wondered if it was as cold. She never had forgotten her father, though she wished she had when she heard that he had died in an ambush.

The funeral did not bring sound back to the house, not even the sound of a pot being placed on the stove. Her mother stopped making any food. The two grew thin, pale, weak. Dark circles formed around their eyes. Their greasy hair stuck to their unwashed skin. Mother and daughter, looking so very much alike, both of them invisible to the other, to themselves.

The day that Ellenor believed she would finally waste away, an old woman came to their door. Ellenor's mother looked on from the shadow of the corner she was sitting in as the crone swept in through the doorway. Her feet made no sound. The mother's wooden chair did not creak; she stayed motionless as Ellenor was whisked away. The child thought she should cry, and so she did. The sun hurt her skin and her eyes. She shied away from the cold, did not care to focus her squinting eyes on the wooded path. She still could hear nothing. It was only her and the old woman, her grandmother, escaping her home and her mother.

"Are you a witch?" Ellenor's first words, at age 9.

Her grandmother winced. "Do you know me?"she asked, and looking in the little girl's eyes, it was clear that she did.

"Do you know why I've come?" she asked next. It was clear the child did not.

Jodis, her grandmother, told her story. On the night she was to be turned into a hagraven, she was instead saved. She was there on the altar, naked, the dagger near to pierce her heart forever, when a sudden blast knocked her party from their perch. Vigilants of Stendarr had intercepted the ritual. The hagravens were a difficult foe to defeat, even taken off their guard. But the Vigilants managed it, nonetheless. Jodis did not remember much of the battle, only that she was very afraid for her life, and it must have showed on her face. The Vigilants saw her thinking she'd been there against her will. She was curled beneath the altar when a young man from the group offered his hand, telling her she was safe now "by Stendarr's mercy". She went with them under the pretense that she had been kidnapped. When the question of where she came from was brought up, she told them she was a mercenary and had taken on more than she could chew. They clothed her and gave her blessings before allowing her to go on her way.

"There is always another way," the old woman said softly. "Never forget that, Ellenor. The gods will always lay a path of righteousness alongside evil."

She returned home to find that her son had run away. He left no note, but it was obvious to her why he did. So shaken by the events of that night, she began to weep, and wept until the sun finally rose the next morning. And though her eyes were bleary, she felt she could see everything far more clearly.

"I had to accept that I was saved that night. And by accepting this, I accepted Stendarr. Even though I felt so much pain, and felt that I'd lost everything, I was better off that morning than many mornings before. I did not go look for my son. Oh, I wanted to. Perhaps I should have. But I felt he could build a better life without me around. I eventually returned to the Vigilants of Stendarr and told them the truth of that night. I begged them to take me, and...cleanse me. It took a very long time to build that trust, but they would come to accept me into their ranks. I've been fighting evil for many years now, all while worrying for my son. I never told him that I changed. I was too ashamed, and didn't feel that I deserved to seek his forgiveness, even with Stendarr's teachings..."

"Once I had enough coin, I hired someone to find him and tell me how he was. I learned that he was married, and that his wife was pregnant. You're very young, perhaps too young to know the feelings I felt that night. Happy, but so very sad...and afraid. Too afraid to go to my own son and...well, little one, you'll understand on your own one day. He's gone now, isn't he? That is why I'm here. Seeing you right now is making me very, very happy."

At this point, the young Ellenor had grabbed the cold, wrinkled hand of the old woman. She was wearing brightly colored robes, which were dirtied near the feet from travel. Her grayish-white hair was twisted into an elegant bun, making the agony easy to read on her kind, weathered face. Her son was dead. She could never make things right, not in this life. Ellenor did understand. Jodis, looking into her eyes, could feel that. For the first time in what felt like centuries, the little Ellenor was pulled into an embrace.

 

* * *

 

 

The farm was left to Ellenor when her mother finally withered away, but she was always too busy to be bothered by it. Jodis filled her days with love. She passed on what she had learned in her service to the gods. To heal, to love, to respect all life around her, no matter how seemingly insignificant or wrong. She fed her curiosity, and showed her that nature deserved the reverence she had always paid it. For the first time in her life, Ellenor was allowed to freely explore the world. She was given every chance to inquire, discover, experience. The two traveled from village to city, mountain to valley, marvel to wonder.

Ellenor would find her own path after she came of age. She traveled on her own to the College of Winterhold to become a student. She was a studious apprentice, and a respectable mage. She took to Restoration magic, as it best manifested the lessons of mercy and forgiveness that had been instilled in her. She would go to visit the site where her parent's ashes were interred once a year, then two and three times when her studies were finished and she returned to her grandmother.

But Jodis by then was nearing her own time. No matter how much Ellenor would try, she couldn't save her grandmother from death. At the age of 23 she held her grandmother's hand the last time. She saw to it that her ashes were spread near her son's. 

Alone in the farmhouse of her childhood, where echoes of her departed family hung heavy, what could Ellenor do but obsess over death? She did her best to busy herself with the farm, but she always went to bed with a book on the subject, or writing about it in her journals. Her life seemed to her one death after another. At this point she was only waiting on her own.

One gray and white morning she watched a giant, looming figure approach her windmill. She'd dealt with giants before, but this one seemed particularly roused. It swung its great club and smashed it against the mill, sending bricks and mortar flying into her cabbages. Just as she was readying herself to go out and give the behemoth a what's-for, she noticed four figures creeping in the mist around it. Suddenly it was sprayed with arrows, its ankles met with steel blades. Bright, hot red sprayed everywhere. The fog cleared around the corpse, revealing the painted faces of its killers. They were the Companions. Ellenor's eyes were wide, her world seeming to shatter. She watched them clap each other on the back, shouting and laughing as they took turns making sure it was dead. She felt herself shaking in awe. They came to her door and offered some coin to cover the damage, but she refused silently, sending them on their way with small thanks. When they were gone and she was left back alone, she felt all of the sorrow she'd been ignoring since her father's death.

The moment weighed on her mind for days. She felt some kind of passion was stirred in her, but she couldn't place it. She had to leave that house. With some equipment that had been laying around the house, including her father's shield, she set off on her first pilgrimage to Jorrvaskr. 


	3. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of fire, her new life begins.

Ellenor could see the city now, though it was half obscured by the fog. The moisture clung to her hair, gathered in thick droplets on her forehead and trickled down like sweat. She thought of that fateful morning, when she first met the Companions. She pressed on.

She passed familiar faces on the mist. Other farmers, already well into their work for the day. Ellenor's own harvest would be nothing spectacular this year. Her stomach grumbled at the thought of being short on food for another winter season. It didn't turn her on her heels and send her back home. It only made her tread faster. 

By the time she reached the gate, the sun was working to dissipate the fog. She could hear the city bustling within. She was later than usual. She went unnoticed through the city. Where she had met intrigue to ridicule, there was now nothing left. Perhaps there was pity for her seeming illness of the mind, which kept her a slave to this daily ritual of travel and rejection and travel again. She climbed the steps out of the marketplace, to where a priest of Talos had already begun his sermon for the day. Like Ellenor, trapped to repeat the same things over and over, to a crowd who had long lost their interest, with the same passion and liveliness as every other day. 

"Terrible and powerful Talos! We, your unworthy servants, give praise! For only through your grace and benevolence may we truly reach enlightenment!" he cried. 

She reached the first of the steps up to Jorrvaskr. She felt eyes on her back, judgement on her head.

"And deserve our praise you do, for we are one! Ere you ascended and the Eight became Nine, you walked among us, great Talos, not as god, but as man!"

The strength in her legs waned, she felt the sun was blinding now, like the gods had begun to look down on her.

"Trust in me, Whiterun! Trust in Heimskr! For I am the chosen of Talos! I alone have been anointed by the Ninth to spread his holy word!"

She stopped. There was silence, save for the soft chatter of the birds and the wind between the branches of the magical tree behind her. She turned on her heel, saw the tree, saw the temple, and saw the stone of the stairs at her feet. Saw darkness, saw nothing.

She awoke to warmth and light, was greeted by every color the gods had placed on Nirn. She saw a pair of hands over her, giving her a blessing. She closed her eyes until a gentle voice roused her. 

"That was some fall. Are you okay?" asked the priestess. 

Ellenor breathed. She nodded, opening her eyes to see who was there. The priestess was dressed as her grandmother had been, though wore an amulet of Kynareth. She was a young Nordic woman, blonde hair and blue eyes, round cheeks and a warm smile. 

"You don't know what happened?" 

Ellenor looked at her but gave no answer, only bit her lip. 

"Can you hear?" 

She nodded.

"Can you speak?"

She shrugged. The priestess looked puzzled for a moment before something clicked. 

"You are sworn to silence. Are you an acolyte?" 

Ellenor was tired of the questions. She left the table they'd rested her on and held her hands out to the priestess, bringing them back to her chest. The woman seemed to understand, and Ellenor left without fuss. When she got outside, she realized it was late in the evening. Frustrated, she hurried to Jorrvaskr once again. She found that queasy feeling again. Was it simply nerves that brought her down before? She hadn't been eating well, either. It was likely a mixture of fatigue and anxiety that caused her to faint. But now she made it to the front entrance. She gave the door a single, firm rap. There was no answer. She waited thirty seconds before trying again. This time she was answered with a new face. It was Tilma the Haggard, the sole maid of the hall. She spoke timidly, so not to disturb those inside.

"The Companions are just seated for supper. If you come back later, I'm sure they'll hear you," she said.

Ellenor opened her mouth, more an expression of shock than an interest in speaking. She pushed her lips firmly together again, and gave the woman an apologetic look before pushing past her and into the building. But Tilma, while very old, was no pushover. She tripped the woman for her rudeness, sending her toppling like a fool into the main hall. She caught the attention of some of her heroes, who then proceeded to pretend she wasn't there. The only one to get out of their seat was Vilkas, who with his painted eyes in the orange light of the hearth looked like a demon. Ellenor was seized with fear. Everything about his approach was irate, malicious. At once she was sorry, but it was too late. He took her by her arm and hoisted her to her feet, only tightening his grip when she found her bearing. 

"What did I tell you?" he seethed. 

She was visibly shaking, her eyes stayed glued to the floor. 

"You can let go of her, Vilkas. I don't think she means us any harm," said Kodlak Whitemane, whose calm and wise tone allowed the woman to relax. 

"How can we know that? She comes every day, always wasting our time. I even told her not to come, and here she is. During supper, no less. It could be sabotage," Vilkas answered. 

The old man chuckled. "Sabotage!" he repeated, "Listen to yourself, Vilkas. You're supposed to be the more level headed between you and your brother."

At this point, the old man was on his feet, coming to ease the situation. 

"You, girl," he continued, "you aren't here to spy on us, are you?" 

Ellenor shook her head. He chuckled again.

"Of course not! You want to join us, don't you?" 

She looked at the ground again, ashamed. She was already done trying today. She had lost again. 

"Come, don't give up now! Not after, what, seventy-four tries this year! Not to mention the years before that. You have a lot of spirit, a lot of dedication and loyalty, without even being one of us yet. Vilkas, come here."

The younger Companion obliged. Kodlak continued, "Is she good with a weapon?"

"Not in the least bit," Vilkas seethed, keeping his eye on the woman.

"Well, is there any way she might join us?" 

"Hmph. Maybe to help Tilma," he said, meaning to be cruel. But Kodlak lit up. 

"Of course! Vilkas, I knew you would own up to your reputation for good ideas eventually. How about it, girl? You can join the ranks of the Companions...as an aid to old Tilma," he declared. 

Her eyes came off the ground. It was the best she had been offered. She looked to Tilma, who had retreated to a corner of the room. The old woman smiled at her, not unhappy at the prospect of a little help around the mead hall. Ellenor nodded, looking a little more alive now. A smile even threatened to cross her lips, though she kept it in check. 

Vilkas sighed. "Very well. Ellenor, that is your name?"

She nodded. She had once been the city's big topic of gossip, so her story was not unknown to most people. It was no surprise he knew her name. 

"See Tilma there. She will tell you what is expected of you. You shouldn't need to come to me or anyone else but her for anything. Try to keep yourself out of the way."

That was the most she heard from Vilkas since. 

Her first day on the job went easily enough. She was well accustomed to keeping house. Their duties were to keep the place clean and stocked. She and Tilma took all the blankets and rugs outside to shake the dust from them. Then, they made up all the beds. They swept the floors, changed out candles and checked the oil in the lanterns. The days continued with such duties. They prepared the table for meals, and cleaned up after. They kept an inventory on the mead. They never let the place run dry. 

Every morning Ellenor watched the Companions get dispatched. Every evening she saw their victorious return, watched them laugh and shout at the table, share the stories of their adventures and triumph. She watched them, from her dark little corner, make merry as a family. Her chest would grow tight, her eyes stayed fixated on the warm fire at the center of the room. Times like this, she wished she knew what to say.

She avoided their gaze when they happened to be around. Not that they paid her that much attention. Once she was sweeping by some beds when the Huntress walked in. The woman regarded her as she had the day they met, sizing her up. She seemed not to see what she had before. Ellenor pretended not to notice. The woman left quietly. 

Another evening, Ellenor was sitting with Tilma, discussing her career at Jorrvaskr. 

"I've been tending to the warriors of Jorrvaskr for as long as I can remember," she said. "But, I am getting old. Don't think I don't know that. And don't tell these sods that I do, either! The truth is, I'm glad you came along when you did. You will have to take my place, when the time comes."

Ellenor began to better understand the inner workings of the Companions as her relationship with Tilma grew stronger. She began to think of the old woman in the same way she'd thought of her grandmother. A protector, a mother. Tilma shared secrets with her, invited her to listen in on certain conversations. Ellenor's heart grew sympathetic to the hardness of these warrior's hearts. She began to understand their ways. She understood her place. As months passed, she accepted her role as a maid and was at peace with the work, the loss of her dream. Perhaps it had been time for a new dream.

It suited her. And once the Companions started warming up to her, she found this to be the perfect life. She felt like a mother sometimes. She fed them, washed their linens, kept their home clean. She listened to their hardships when they settled in. She did not feel locked in like she did as a child. She felt more free, more fulfilled, than ever. 

When Tilma fell ill, Ellenor felt a sadness she never got to feel for her own parents. She prayed by her bedside every night. She wept for her, held her ancient hand, but not once did she try to use her magic to heal her. A decision she would come to regret. She was afraid of what the others might say. 

When the old woman passed, Ellenor was overcome with grief. She knew she could've saved her. The thought that haunted her was, was this even worth anything? Did the Companions hate all magic, or was there an exception for Restoration, being from the gods? She felt exposed, shattered, even though she'd done nothing. 

Tilma was given a pyre. Her ashes were gathered and interred in a single grave. It was outside the city walls, near a small pond surrounded by tall grasses and wild flowers. After work every day, instead of having supper, Ellenor visited that grave and prayed and gave an offering. She apologized every time. She stayed for hours, until the darkness started to creep around her. When she returned, the hall was empty, save for the embers of the hearth glowing at the center. The Companions would be asleep. 

Once, as she prepared to leave, Vilkas stopped her. 

"Wait," he ordered. It was not as harsh as he'd been before. 

She obliged. He and his twin brother, Farkas, approached her. 

"I know you're going to see her. We'd like to come with you. Tilma, she was here from the beginning for my brother and I. She was a mother to us." He did not meet her gaze when he spoke. 

Ellenor looked down, then at Farkas. He had no trouble looking her in the eye. He was strong, unmovable, yet she could see his pain. She nodded once. The three were off. 

The evening was beautiful. A rain had washed over the Earth, giving the air a freshness and an invigorating scent. Ellenor wanted to run through the field, feel it sweep over her hands. The sky was so vast, so open. She wanted to fly. But in their company, she was confined to walking. It didn't stop her from smiling to herself as they made their way into the tall grass. The men followed her closer in the field, as if something may be hunting them. But she was calm, assured. She'd made the trip many times. When she stopped, she stayed back to allow the brothers to get closer. The grave was marked simply with a medium-sized stone. Fresh flowers lay picked at the foot of the stone. An offering from Ellenor. Farkas offered her a backwards glance. Vilkas ignored it.

She left them to their mourning, wandering on her own into the field. She did not go too far from them, but apparently it was far enough. She heard the distant cry of a wolf, thinking nothing of it. She'd heard them nights before, and they'd left her alone. She bent down to pick some yellow flowers. The tiny raindrops winked up at her in the dying light. She felt the hairs on her neck stand. Next thing she knew, she had been pounced on. Claws dug into her skin, her face was forced into the mud. She cried out, immediately mustering her strength to roll away and get on her feet. It was a wolf. In a matter of seconds, three more appeared out of the brush.

The first of them leapt at her once more, sinking its teeth deep into her arm. She bore her own teeth, grimacing in pain. She sank to her knees. She had no weapon. There was only one way out. She knew the brothers were on their way to help. She heard their blades draw, their boots pounding the mud as they came quickly to her aid. But she knew she couldn't wait for them to rescue her. It might be too late by then. Sinking her head low, tears falling straight into her own blood on the ground, Ellenor called on the power she'd hid all this time. Her fingers spread, sending pain up her wounded forearm. She stood, screaming, her head snapping up to face the sky as she cried to the gods to spare her any consequences. And a huge, blazing fire erupted out of every part of her body. The wolves that surrounded her were now running in vain for their lives. In seconds they were smoking, stinking corpses. 

She fell to her knees, tears streaming, her eyes glued on the blood running down her arm. Shaking, she grabbed it with the opposite hand and sent pure light flowing through her own veins. The brothers arrived in time to witness her wound close itself in seconds. 

Her hair was singed. There had been no control in the blast, only destruction all around. She sat panting, crying. 

"Please..." she begged, "Please."


	4. Secrets Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> edited 10/29/2018

"So, you can speak," Vilkas noted. His voice had found its venom once more.

"Brother," Farkas started.

"No, Farkas. Let's hear what else she has to say," the first twin continued, forcefully planting his sword in the soft ground. He tossed his shield aside, and stood over the woman. How often they found themselves like this. She looked up at him, desperation and pleading in her eyes.

"Please...don't," was all she mustered.

"I almost wanted to give you a chance," he said, shaking his head. "After all you've done to disappoint us. I'm just a fool, I guess."

She shook her head, trying to will him to understand.

"You shouldn't have hid this from us," Farkas finally chimed in. He was right, of course. "We don't use magic in the Companions, but we don't trick each other, either."

She stopped her crying, looking at him with an almost hateful gleam in her eye.

"Hypocrite," she mustered through her half-sobs.

"What?" Vilkas asked, coming closer, keeping his eyes locked on her.

She glared at him instinctively, but glancing back at the direction of the grave, she couldn't keep it up.

"What...what did Tilma tell you?" he asked carefully, though he knew the answer already.

* * *

 

"Oh, I'm a good keeper of secrets. Have to be, in this hall." Tilma muttered as she swept the rug. Ellenor inched closer, her eyes bright with curiosity.

Tilma chuckled. "You want to know what old Tilma knows?" She looked around, and came closer. "You'll learn everything soon enough, in this position. Just be patient. I've learned, being in places and people don't know you're there, you pick up on things. And over time you build hunches on what they mean, and the bits and pieces you hear and see all make more and more sense. Hmph. As long as I've been around, I see everything, hear everything, and know everything."

Ellenor huffed, earning another small laugh from the elder. "You don't really say a lot for a woman your age. In fact I've never heard you speak a work. Maybe there'd be no harm..well, listen. You have to promise me you won't tell anyone. And you'll do all the sweeping for a week!"

Ellenor stepped back, looking at her like she was crazy. But the woman insisted that what she had was worth the price. Rolling her eyes, but willing to play whatever game this was, Ellenor allowed the woman to whisper into her ear.

"The Companions...some of them, an inner circle, are cursed." She said.

Ellenor cocked her head to the side.

"Listen!" and the old woman shared what she knew.

Some of the information had been given freely long ago, other things she'd snooped out of journals left carelessly around, still other information picked up from what was mistakenly thought to be private conversations. Ellenor absorbed every bit of it. She felt a joy erupt in her heart. Now that she knew this, she felt even deeper a part of this guild. Not even all of the Companions knew this! The old woman seemed happy to have someone to share the burden with. If nothing else, she wanted Ellenor to understand just who she was serving every day. The young woman seemed intent on staying here as she had, for the rest of her life. Not telling her would be a disservice.

* * *

 

Lightning lit up the sky above them, as a mist started to fall from the sky. Thunder boomed and cracked, making the ground beneath them rumble. Ellenor's hair turned from bright to dirty blonde, her tears disappearing in the raindrops on her cheeks. She stood, looking taller than the floored man in front of her.

"I can't believe she would betray us," Vilkas said softly.

Ellenor straightened, looking to the twin brother. But Farkas had nothing. He seemed just as surprised. She sighed, shaking her head. Why couldn't they understand? She was not their enemy. She didn't deserve this treatment. She stepped close to Vilkas, so she was now right in front of him. She picked up his hand, wincing at the gesture, the familiarity. For some reason she thought of her mother.

Another crack of lightning, rumbling thunder. In the brief light she saw a large gash in his palm. It was healing on its own, but looked like it was starting to get infected. She looked him in the eye. He seemed completely uneasy. She shook her head, took a shaky breath.

Through exasperation, she pushed as many words as she'd ever forced through those half-sealed lips.

"I never claimed...to be a warrior," she started. "I...don't have..the heart."

She breathed deeply, looking down at his hand again to avoid his eyes.

"I have seen enough of this world to know it does not need another sword or axe," she continued steadily, starting a spell. A golden light swirled around Vilkas' hand, weaving in and out like a needle and thread. Before his eyes he watched his wound close, the scab disappear. The pain was gone. The color returned to normal. It even took a bit of swelling away.

"I would far sooner..give it kindness," she said, her voice starting to rasp. She took a breath in the middle of the sentence. Her voice was so soft, it was almost impossible to hear over the rain. She picked each word slowly, carefully. And they rolled off her tongue smoothly, calmly. Like she was talking to a sleeping child. "Contemplation. Healing."

He retracted his hand, examining it closely. He was in awe.

She looked at him again, seeming to have gained her confidence.

"And so...I give you my hands," she finished. Her voice was a whisper now, but the men heard her.

Farkas looked at his brother. "Well, Vilkas?"

The dark-haired Nord let his hand drop. "We aren't monsters," he said from nowhere before continuing, "We can't make any decisions in this rain. Let's get back to Jorrvaskr".

The rain came harder as they made their way home, the three feeling relatively at peace.


	5. Reverie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellenor dreams of her parents.

Ellenor dreamed of her mother, bending down to kiss her on her forehead. She was taken up in her arms, held against her chest. She was carried outside, into a blinding light that dimmed to reveal an unknown scene to her. The world seemed like a fairy-tale land. The trees were green, but also purple and white. The river was a different shade of blue. In Skyrim it was like an extension of the sea. Here, it was like the color of a blue bird. The grass was all neat and tidy, bursting with wildflowers around the treeline. Otherwise the path to the home was laden with extraordinary garden flowers, shrubbery, and ornamental trees. She heard the songs of unfamiliar birds, and a faint rumbling as if from a distant waterfall. 

As her mother carried her down the path, her little face was cooled by the gentle breeze, which carried with it the perfume of all the wonderful flowers. The baby cooed in its mother's arms. She offered it a warm smile, gazing lovingly at her infant. 

They neared the river, its waters so crystal clear that you could see the little golden fish swimming leisurely at the bottom. Svala sighed contentedly. 

She tossed the little one into the air, its white blankets flowing in the wind like sails, covering the baby's face and golden hair, so that when it sank to the bottom of the river with the golden fishies, you might think there was only a rock swaddled in them. 

She peered over the bank, saw her reflection in the now still waters. She touched her face, saw its youth, saw each freckle and hair. She saw how pieces of her own blonde hair hung freely in front of her face. The rest was secured in a matronly bun, indicative of a woman who had to keep her hair out of the way so it wouldn't be grabbed or caught during her caring for the child and the other womanly duties about the home. Each bit of detail was familiar to her. Yes, this was her face.

Svala felt instantly alone. She turned and saw the cold, stark landscape of her homeland. The snow clung to the mountains far beyond. Down in the valley where she stood, the trees were bare and the grass was dead. No one walked the roads. No smoke rose nearby. She did not even hear any sort of mating call from the wildlife, no wind swept by her ear. Even the river behind her was silent. She turned again, saw its placid surface. She felt increasingly anxious. It was like the surface of a small pool, but it stretched on in its same winding shape. She screamed at it, threw rocks to force it to ripple. The rocks dropped to the bottom without effect. Finally she threw herself in.

The water turned black the second her toe touched the surface. She panicked, started swimming. But with each circle her arm rotated, the inky waters grew thicker. Finally, it was so thick it held her in place. It dropped her, dripping and coughing up the vile liquid, on her own porch step. A convoy was moving past her home, trotting and hollering down the road. One man burst from the crowd of merchants and mercenaries and came bolting up the pathway to the farmhouse. She held up her hand to block the sun from her eyes as she wheezed and gagged. She saw a bloodied, blue uniform. Her husband, back from the war. 

He pulled her up into his strong arms, wiping the sludge off of her dress. He smiled, laughing heartily.

"What've you been up to, wife of mine?" he asked, gently wiping it from her tired face. She was tearful now, holding his face in her own hands. Oh, how they shook despite having his cheeks to steady them.

"Husband," she choked. He pulled her into a big, loving embrace. They kissed and cried in each other's arms. Finally he pulled away to look at his wife once more.

"Where is Ellenor?" he asked weakly. How his heart had hurt for his daughter. "I need to see my baby."

Svala froze. She did not break away from his gaze. Her hands grabbed bits of her dress. She pretended to be wringing water from it. "I don't know. She went to play by the river again," she lied.

The man chuckled. "Our infant daughter, playing by the river?"

This gave the woman pause. Why had she said this so easily? It was as if, for some moment in her mind, Ellenor had been a small child, not an infant. And she had a habit of going to that river. She laughed uneasily.

"What is wrong, my love?" her husband asked. 

Svala was suddenly gripped by an overwhelming feeling of remorse. Gods! What had she done? Here was the father of their child, who would never get to see her again! And it was her fault. She'd murdered her own flesh and blood, which she had given up so much of her mind and body to. She had pledged, from the moment the pregnancy was confirmed, that she would be only a source of nurturing, love, and kindness to their baby. Now it lay at the bottom of a river. Cold, dead.

"I killed her! I threw her in the river!" she screamed, falling to her knees and burying her face into the palms of her hands. Heartbreaking sobs burst from her fingertips, sending sharp pain into her husband's heart.

He knelt beside her, took her into his arms and cradled her head against his thick chest. "Why have you broken down so suddenly? You worry me! What has happened?" he pleaded.

She pushed him away. "Did you not hear me! I said I murdered our only child, our beautiful daughter. Your poor Ellenor is dead at the bottom of the river!"

But the man didn't respond. His face did not change. He only looked at her with love and concern. Tears formed in his eyes.

"Has something bad happened to Ellenor?" he asked, praying it wasn't the case.

Svala stood, looking at him like he'd gone mad. "I killed her! I killed her!" she shouted it so loud, the gods in Aetherius might hear. Yet he still showed no sign of understanding.

"Why...why won't you speak to me?" he pleaded. Now he seemed hurt. He stay there on the ground. 

Svala gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. Her eyes went hot and wet with tears again. He didn't hear her. He didn't even see her mouth move. 

"I love you," she said desperately. "I love you, Iric."

He looked dumbly on, not registering a thing. Her heart broke. She got on her knees, this time to pray. She whispered appeals to her gods, begging forgiveness. 

She hoped, if no one else, they would hear her.

 

And Ellenor woke in tears.


	6. The Ultimate Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of the silence is broken, and there is trouble back home. It becomes clearer to Ellenor where she stands with the Companions, and what will become of her soon...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a long hiatus, here is the next chapter of Mara's Mercy. I've really enjoyed writing this and hope to keep it up, though it may come slow as I want to really think out the way things go down. I think I'll run the Companions questline tonight for some inspiration/remind myself of how the characters interact with each other and the newbie.

The twins made a deal with Ellenor: they would forget her outburst if she forgot their secret. It was meant to be temporary, a way to keep things under control until the prospect of allowing a mage to join their ranks was discussed with the others. But days went on and weeks came by without any news. After a couple months, she considered the promise expired. It was disappointing, but she was happy things didn’t turn out worse. 

She fell into her regular duties, only now she found the position a little more full time. The problem of her family’s farm came up. It was nearing time to seed and her neighbors offered to lend her some help if she needed it. She did them one better, offering the entire property to them at a price that was almost offensive to her deceased parents. Ellenor needed to be rid of the farm and all of the journals full of memories and feelings it held inside. The price was her assurance that it would be out of her hands within a month. 

She paid little visits to the house as she needed to, mostly for business like retrieving some of the things she’d like to keep (books, a few full journals and two empty ones, an Amulet of Stendarr that belonged to her grandmother, a ring of her mother’s which stayed invisible in a black box, and her personal items that she couldn’t be without). The final papers were signed and dealt with sooner than she’d thought. A final thanks and well wishing from her neighbors, and she was officially rid of all worth except for what she carried back to Jorrvaskr. It was a big relief to her, but it wouldn’t last forever. The burden of that home would come back to haunt her.

The day started with her eavesdropping again. She was idly dusting and sweeping around one of the bedrooms that happened to be within earshot of where Kodlak and two other senior members of the Companions were speaking. Jorrvaskr may have been somewhat of an architectural marvel, but its walls were quite thin. 

She heard Kodlak mention her name.

“I see...so Ellenor has sold her childhood home in favor of cleaning up after us?” He inquired. 

Vilkas’ voice answered somewhat unsure, “Not exactly. I mean yes, she sold the old place, but not just to come back and clean”. 

Ellenor gripped the handle of her broom tightly, wishing she could correct him. She felt herself physically shrink. She didn’t mind cleaning. But nothing rose in her throat. She wouldn’t protest being allowed more. 

“She wants to join our ranks then, is that it? Well I shouldn’t sound so surprised. That was her goal since day one. What is surprising however, is that you’re advocating for her, Vilkas,” Kodlak went on. 

“Now I didn’t say I was for this,” Vilkas was quick to clarify. 

“Oh come on, Vilkas. So what if the whelp ain’t good for nothing when it comes to swinging her little farm hatchet? You said yourself she healed that nasty gash in your hand from a while back, and barely left a scar! That’s useful enough I say. Besides, she’ll get all the power she needs when we bring her into the circle,” a third voice chimed in, Ellenor recognizing it as Skjor’s. She felt her heart start to pitter-patter, touched that someone was speaking out for her. But the Circle? She sank a little further, embarrassed for herself. That was crazy talk. 

Kodlak chuckled but Vilkas went off before he could speak, saying, “You’re mad if you think she should be allowed on a job, let alone—!” 

Skjor interrupted immediately, hushing him back down, “Easy, easy, Vilkas. I only said that part to annoy you. But it’s a funny thought, turning someone like that...you know”. 

“We certainly would have a project on our hands,” Kodlak agreed, “but I’ve found that teaching someone far different from ourselves can in turn teach us”. 

“Harbinger, you aren’t seriously considering—“ Vilkas tried to interrupt.

“I’m not saying anything, Vilkas. It’s hard to determine her future in our Circle when she’s not even been allowed to be a Companion,” Kodlak answered coolly, then adding a sly, “but it would be interesting to observe how she handles that power”. 

Skjor laughed heartily and Ellenor could hear someone was clapped on the back. 

“Don’t worry, Vilkas, we know you’ll never let the poor thing in,” Skjor said. 

The conversation should have nearly ended there. But instead, there was an outburst from Vilkas. 

“I don’t understand how you can even consider her, when we have far more worthy members who have been here well before her,” he snapped, “What about Ria?”

The other two went silent. Skjor allowed Kodlak to take this one. 

“Ria is a good woman, but that power wouldn’t suit her,” he said.

“And why not?” Vilkas asked immediately. 

“Taking on a pact with one of the Daedra? We are working to find the way out, because the price of our soul is not worth the power it lends to our cause. At least..that’s our view,” Kodlak began, allowing Skjor his grunt at the subject before continuing, “we simply didn’t see that when we were younger and more zealous. Ria, however...I believe she is pure enough to see right away for the evil it is. I would not doubt her character by offering”. 

Ellenor wasn’t sure how she felt, hearing this. Was Kodlak saying that she wasn’t “pure”, that she seemed like the sort to have no problem taking on a deal with a Daedric Prince? 

“I’m unsure about Ellenor. She’s so quiet, and her actions are so unprecedented…I can’t get a read on her like I do Ria. That’s why the idea of offering the power to her is so interesting to me. I’m curious to know how she’d respond, and what she’d do if it was granted to her,” Kodlak finished. 

“But we can’t make someone a member of the Circle based on intrigue alone,” Vilkas responded, his voice sounding full of desperation. 

“I know that, Vilkas. It’s only talk,” Kodlak assured. 

A moment of silence passed as the three members thought of anything else to say. Skjor was the one to break it first. 

“You both know about her parents, right? Pa went out to fight for the Stormcloaks, didn’t even make it to his first post before his unit was ambushed. When her mother learned about his death, she shut them both in, never even went out to get food for either herself or her daughter. If it wasn’t for Ellenor’s grammy swooping in at the last second, she’d have died of hunger along with her ma. Ma was beyond help, though. Starved herself to death. Terrible,” he recounted, seeming like he could have gone on if Kodlak didn’t stop him.

“We both know the story, Skjor,” he said cautiously, as if he were semi-aware that a certain someone had made a habit of listening to their conversations. 

“Her grandmother died. Tilma died. The way she dropped those wolves that night, I’d wager that woman was cursed to bring the deaths of anyone who gets too close to her,” Vilkas added despite Kodlak’s half-warning. 

“Tilma was very old, Vilkas,” Kodlak defended harshly, but he was too late. The damage was done. 

Ellenor had stopped her sweeping and was sitting on one of the freshly made beds, covering her mouth with her hand as hot tears rolled down her cheeks. Hearing the accounts of her past brought up so matter-of-factly was a shock to her, so she wasn’t prepared for Vilkas’ cruel comment. While she cried she cursed herself for crying. She had to be tougher, she thought. She couldn’t let this get to her. She fought herself for a good minute, not listening to the arguing on the other side of the wall anymore. Not until a different, female voice interrupted. 

“Have any of you seen Ellenor?” Aela asked. 

“No we haven’t, we’ve been sitting here all morning,” Kodlak answered, “Why do you ask, Aela?” 

“Someone’s sent word for her. The courier wouldn’t tell me who, and he’ll only hand the letter off to her. I need her to come get it so I can kick his smarmy ass down the steps,” the huntress answered, “I’ll just keep looking, then”.

It didn’t take long for Aela to find Ellenor from that point. She didn’t normally bother with pleasantries, knowing Ellenor wasn’t one to share in them, anyway. But when she saw the girl’s eyes were wet and her face was red, she thought for a moment if she should check that she was feeling alright. But there was an intruder at the door of their mead hall, and she got the faintest feeling that all Ellenor wanted at that point was to escape that room. 

So she simply said, “Ellenor, there’s a courier here to see you. Would you like to help me remove this breach in our security?” 

Ellenor nodded and brought herself up as sturdily as she could, following Aela upstairs. She offered a glance down the hall to where the others were sitting, seeing that it was only Kodlak now, who met her eyes and offered a smile. She found herself unable to return it at that moment. 

The two women met the courier at the door, who promptly handed Ellenor her letter and skittered off before Aela could pounce. While Aela fumed after him, Ellenor slowly opened the letter, unsure who it could be from. The courier didn’t have the chance to say. When she recognized the handwriting, her stomach sank. She scanned it over a few times, making sure she got it right.

According to the farmer’s wife, they’d caught someone scouting the land near her house and suspected they may try something heinous within the week. Now, she shouldn’t have cared what anyone may be planning for that place as it wasn’t hers anymore, but she’d hate for a bunch of ruffians to tear the place to shreds and make off with whatever few momentos she’d left behind. What’s more, her neighbors had probably written more for their own self interest. Their home wasn’t far from where the bandit was spotted, and they knew she’d taken up with the Companions. This was them indirectly asking for their aid, and perhaps getting the job done for free. 

But Ellenor didn’t know what to do. She wouldn’t feel comfortable asking for help. She stood there contemplating over and over what her true options were, who exactly she should speak to, what she should say…

“What was it all about, anyway?” Aela asked, interrupting Ellenor’s train of thought. 

Ellenor gave her a confused look. 

“The courier—who is the letter from?” The huntress clarified.

Ellenor lowered the parchment, hesitating to give away any information. 

“I keep forgetting that you aren’t much of a talker. Do you mind if I just read it and see? It’s nothing too personal, is it?” Aela continued. 

This was her chance. She likely wouldn’t have another. If she was going to do anything about those bandits, she had to hand over the letter. But still, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to hand off this burden. If Aela were to see what the word was, she would be compelled to share it with the others. Ellenor hated the thought of anything being done for her. 

But this wasn’t about her. It was about her neighbors—the farmer and his wife and their two children. Ellenor looked Aela in the eye, handing the parchment over calmly. 

The huntress’s brow furrowed as she read to the end. Just as Ellenor expected, she seemed troubled by the news.

“It sounds like they need your help. This is your old home they’re talking about?” She asked. 

Ellenor nodded in response.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll take this to Skjor. He and I will take care of these bandits,” Aela said, her tone turning the slightest bit darker. 

Ellenor shook her head, reaching to take the letter back. Aela looked at her curiously but didn’t have a chance to speak as Farkas came up behind her undetected--quite a feat for such a large man against a hunter of her prowess.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, Aela?” he asked, lumbering around her to grab the paper from her hands and scan it over. It took him a while but eventually he seemed to get the jist of it. “Yeah...I know some of these words. Your folks run into some trouble, Ellenor?”

Aela snatched the paper back and snapped at him, “Farkas, it’s rude to read into people’s private business. And it isn’t her ‘folks’, it’s her neighbors”. She stopped herself, huffing as she realized she’d given the oaf more information than he needed. She gave Ellenor an apologetic look. Ellenor’s cheeks were turning a bright red. She tried to wave it off as not a big deal.

“Don’t worry, Ellenor. I’m sure Kodlak wouldn’t have too much to say against a couple of us going to clear out those skeevers,” Farkas tried to continue helpfully.  
“It’s not a skeever infestation, lumps-for-brains, it’s a bandit raid,” Aela corrected before realizing she’d made the same mistake again. She cursed herself, earning a chuckle from Farkas.

“Heh--I know that. I just wanted to make you mad,” he said.

By this time, Skjor had joined the party at the front steps, looking everyone up and down.

“What in Oblivion are you lot jabbering about out here? Why don’t you come inside and stop scaring away Heimskr’s audience?” he said humoredly.

Aela shot him a look and gestured toward Ellenor. 

“Our friend is having some trouble back home, and Farkas is turning it into a big joke,” she explained.

“Oh I’m sure it’s all in good faith, right Farkas?” Skjor inquired.

“Ellenor’s got bandits,” Farkas said simply, and somewhat...unrelatedly.

The conversation went on like this for some time, with Aela doing most of the explaining while Ellenor shrunk further and further in silence. Eventually Vilkas came out and shooed everyone back inside, so to stop creating a spectacle for the market of Whiterun. Unfortunately this discussion was only getting more heated, which caused everyone who heard to want to inquire and put in their own two cents. Surely enough, Ellenor found that everyone was bickering in a circle around her. Aela, Skjor, Farkas, Vilkas, and even Torvar heard the shouting and decided to join in on the fun, though he didn’t seem to follow what was going on.

“You wouldn’t know the first thing about--”

“I’m telling you that this problem is--”

“Given the details of the letter, wouldn’t--”

“There must be some kind of--”

“Yeah! And yer mother’s a--”

“Enough!” came the voice of reason. Kodlak had emerged from the barracks to find nearly every Companion crowding around the maid.

He slowly approached them, making every step like a statement. The crowd backed off of Ellenor, who had been clutching the letter to her chest and trying to keep her head down. The Harbinger came to face her.

“Ellenor, what sort of ruckus have you stirred?” he asked.

Ellenor meekly unfolded her letter and handed it to Kodlak. He read it over two or three times, seeming to take time to digest and come to a decision as he did so. He carefully folded it back to how she had it and returned it to her. 

“Vilkas, will you go with her and see this problem solved?” he asked, his voice taking that cool and collected tone he used whenever a situation was tense. 

The others didn’t move. There was no sound of protest, only silence as they awaited an answer.

“I will,” Vilkas answered.

The rest of the Companions fell back to see the two stand together, looking uneasy around one another. Kodlak nodded lightly to himself, sizing them up. 

“Then go, and both of you be safe. Ellenor, make sure you do your best out there,” Kodlak said. 

Ellenor nodded, but looked very unsure. Were they leaving now? The group disbanded and Vilkas headed over to the barracks. She followed behind him, looking for words, and maddeningly found none. He looked back at her, meeting her eyes and catching her off guard. She was used to him pretending she wasn’t around. 

“Do you have any armor? Weapons?” he asked.

She nodded, and he gestured for her to lead the way. She took him to her trunk, pulling out a leather chest piece and a single iron gauntlet, which was showing a bit of rust. Her axe and shield were in good condition, but the way she handled them reminded the man of just how little practice she had with them. He shook his head. 

“What happened to your helmet?” he asked. 

She gave an awkward smile, patting her pockets.

“Sold it. Of course,” he sighed. “Just meet me upstairs in five minutes. Make sure you wear something we can strap some armor over”. 

Ellenor did as she was told, standing by the dining tables in her tattered longclothes, trying to put up her hair in some kind of functional ponytail or bun. It ended up being a high bun, some pieces flaring out and a couple of strands sneaking back to her face. She was looking duly frustrated by the time Vilkas met her, with a large pack in tow. He let it fall to his feet, kicking it over to her. 

“Try some of that on for size. Most of it was Ria’s, but she said she didn’t mind handing them down to you,” he said as she timidly picked through the leather armor inside.

The stuff was well worn, but fit well enough, and was serviceable. She had some trouble getting some of the straps to cinch, but didn’t really fancy asking Vilkas to help, so she allowed some of the pieces to fit sort of loose. Vilkas gave her a helmet with little horns on it. She didn’t fancy that much, either. 

Fancy it or not, that was how they set off from Jorrvaskr late that evening. Vilkas allowed Ellenor to lead the way, since she knew where they were going. He watched as the weight of the armor became more apparent on her. Months of simple maid work wasn’t exactly the kind of conditioning she needed for a mission like this. He was subconsciously taking notes on what she needed to improve on, and coming up with training plans...only to catch himself and dump everything he was thinking. He would stand by his decision that she did not belong among the Companions. 

Ellenor simply thought about moving and breathing. She ignored the cry of her muscles to be allowed to relax, or take it slower. She did her best to move at a pace she knew Vilkas would take. She didn’t let her breaths come too heavy or too fast, or her feet to drag or hit the ground too hard. She tried to make as little noise as possible while appearing as comfortable as though they were taking a leisurely stroll. 

It became easier for her when they got farther away from the city and found themselves surrounded by tall grasses, some farms visible in the distance. There were some gentle hills but for the most part the landscape was flat, allowing them a long field of view. Ellenor scanned the countryside for anything out of the ordinary. But it was the home she knew, from the birds that leapt from the grasses to the smoke climbing out of the hearths of every farmhouse. The sky was getting darker and Ellenor was beginning to feel anxious. What if they did encounter bandits? She would hardly be able to do anything against them without magic. 

Soon they were approaching her old home, and Vilkas could tell this by the way Ellenor slowed her steps and scanned around more frequently. He looked around, too, but still there was nothing out of the ordinary. He followed her to the steps of an old farmhouse, which had no smoke coming from it, no signs of light inside, and an abandoned and chilling air about it. Ellenor knocked twice, her ear to the door. After a moment of listening for any stirrings, she shook her head, meeting Vilkas’ eyes. No one was home, friend or foe.

They went to the neighbor’s house next, expecting to see more signs of life. Their home was dark inside, but some sputterings of smoke came from the roof. Perhaps they’d turned in early. Ellenor once again approached the doorstep and knocked three times, seeming sure someone was there to answer. When thirty seconds passed without a sound, she tried again and listened more intently. 

While Ellenor tried the door, Vilkas did a quick check of the perimeter. At first it was a mindless check, just a procedure he always followed and thought it better to be safe than sorry. But something caught his eye in the dim light of the nearly finished evening. Something like a pike sticking from the ground. It had nothing stuck to it, and he was able to pull it fairly easily from the dirt. It was merely a section of tree branch that had been sharpened at both ends and, judging by the feel and smell of the carved wood, it had been done recently. He looked to the back of the home, seeing nowhere that someone may have snuck in, except perhaps…

The cellar was on the side of the home, and upon a simple check he could see the lock was busted. Someone was going to make an example out of these farmers, and since the pike was clean, they likely were still inside. But no one had answered the door…

“Ellenor!” Vilkas shouted, hoping to the gods she could hear. But no reply came from the other side of the house. As the Nordic man rushed to the front, he cursed the woman for usually being so silent. “For gods’ sake woman, if you can hear me, answer!”

Still no reply, and he arrived at the front to see the door was hanging open. Inside was a pitch black home. He hurried to stand in the doorframe, his sensitive nose hit with a strong smell of blood. It was thick and metallic, unmistakable and not possible to be ignored. It set every hair of his body on edge. He pulled the greatsword from its sheath on his back and took a ready stance, moving carefully through the home.

“Ellenor!” he called again, this time hearing the creaking of wood as someone moved toward him from the left. He reacted instantly, swinging the sword mightily to meet the intruder’s side and cut them down. If it weren’t for the glimpse of blonde hair he caught by the windowlight, he would have met his deadly mark. Instead he heaved the thing over Ellenor’s head, losing control of it as it hacked the wooden doorframe, becoming stuck. He cursed her.

“Why would you approach me like that, you ignorable...bah, nevermind. It isn’t safe in here, you should--” Vilkas tried to warn, but was interrupted. The sound was easily recognizable by any human, and was a shot of adrenaline to anyone with their instincts intact in this scenario, but doubt and disbelief caused the two of them pause. But there it was, piercing through the thin wooden walls of the home. A baby’s cry. 

Surprisingly, Ellenor was the one to move first and dive further along into the home. Vilkas watched her maneuver through what seemed to be the most direct path to the noise, not checking any of the open doorways or blind spots. He tried to get her attention and tell her to slow down, but she ignored him. 

“Do they even have a child that young?” Vilkas hissed, again without reaction from Ellenor. She didn’t seem to know, nor care. 

Ellenor stepped over something, continuing undaunted, which was a surprise to Vilkas, who saw what she stepped over was a man’s bloodied and dead body. He still followed, but this time grabbed her wrist. She shot him a look that was easy to see even in this light, but he insisted.

“I’m beginning to feel that these aren’t simple bandits we are dealing with. You should let me lead,” he said. She nodded, allowing him to slip past her and continue to the last room of the hallway, the only room where the door was still closed. Vilkas held his ear to the door, and nodded at Ellenor letting her know this was it. She got her axe ready, holding it steadier than he’d ever seen her capable of. 

Vilkas tried the knob, which was locked of course. He gave Ellenor a quick warning to stand back, and with one powerful kick he easily busted in the door open. The muffled cries were now sharp and painful in their ears. Ellenor dropped her axe and rushed in to the little room, which was indeed a baby’s room. A ball of blue light manifested in Ellenor’s right hand. She threw it at the ceiling where it stuck and gave them sight. The room was simple, with a small infant’s cradle, a dresser topped with supplies, and a small chest that likely had what few hand-me-down toys the babe was gifted. Ellenor scooped the red and crying thing into her arms, at once feeling unsure of herself. She’d never held a baby before. She bounced with it, just holding it close, whispering nonsense at it. This seemed to calm it ever slightly, but it still wailed on. 

Vilkas watched how Ellenor handled the situation with awe. It had been a while since he’d seen her use magic. Just as before, she did it without thinking, without warning. It certainly helped to be able to see. He peered down the hall they’d come from, seeing the blood of the corpse more easily from there. He winced, turning back to the baby. 

“We should check the rest of the house. Keep him with you, and follow me closely. I don’t think it’s just us three in here,” he ordered.

Just then, a shadow moved in swiftly from behind, flashing a silver blade at Vilkas’ neck. Vilkas reacted with a shout, dropping to the floor, only allowing the assailant to slice his cheek. He cried out, kicking his feet back but missing his mark. Soon the assassin was on top of him, ready to bury the knife into the back of his skull, but Vilkas was much larger than he, and stood to easily throw him down. Ellenor set the baby down, and stood before it in a protective stance. She got a good look at the assassin. He was an Argonian, with green scaly skin and black, soulless eyes. His armor was a deep red leather, and a hood was draped over his head, though two horns were allowed to peek through. 

The Argonian got her in his sights, and gave up trying to overcome Vilkas. He pounced on her, bringing her to the floor, landing his blade into random spots, as though he were trying to maximize the bloodletting before he ended her. Her arm, her shoulder, her ribs…he got three strikes before Vilkas grabbed him. 

“What are you doing? Use your magic to protect yourself!” Vilkas cried. The Argonian was struggling to break free of Vilkas’s hold, thrashing and swinging his tail to strike. But the Nord held firm, not letting him out of his grip.

“I have a better idea,” the assassin hissed, “How about you two let me have the kid, and I don’t murder everyone in this room!” 

The lizard man broke free as he said this, backing off from the two and taking a defensive stance. 

“What are you going to do with him?” Vilkas asked.

“What do you think? I was sent to kill everyone who lives here, including that little guy. I was just having trouble with the lock. Thanks for getting the grunt work done for me, tubbo,” he answered. 

“Why would anyone want these people dead?” Ellenor asked suddenly, her voice wavering as she held back tears.

The Argonian chuckled. “So she does talk? I hardly knew there was a woman here, thought lardo was talking to himself when he came in,” he said, “As for your question, who knows? My organization doesn’t worry itself with such details”.

“Watch it with the ‘lardo’, friend,” Vilkas warned, earning more amusement from the lizard.

“Anyway, are we having it or what? It’s getting late, and I still gotta strew these bodies all over the place. Some of these clients...they’re more messed up than I am!” he said. 

“No, we aren’t having it,” Vilkas said, seething. He unsheathed his sword and brought it down to meet the assassin’s head, ready to split it in half. 

Ellenor took her chance to grab the baby and run. It was getting too dangerous to have him around the fight. She took him to the living room, kneeling on the floor and placing him there. The child reached up for her, crying to be held again, or perhaps for the noise to stop. She held her hands out over him, gazing forward to gain focus. Closing her eyes, she placed a protective ward over him as well as a concrete barrier, just in time for the two men to come crashing in. The Argonian chasing the child and Vilkas doing his best to hold him back. Ellenor saw that Vilkas had taken more damage, but so had the assassin. She stood over the baby and readied herself. 

The Argonian pounced, as before. Ellenor saw her opportunity. While he was in the air, he’d be helpless. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Now! She thrust her right hand forth, and felt the tips of her fingers grow cold as an ice spike manifested itself and instantly was hurled at the lizard’s chest. He took it with a gasp, and hit the ground wheezing, his eyes wide with terror. He was not expecting such a precise and fatal strike from her. 

It did not take long for what little light was in his eyes to grow dim, and his struggle to reduce to stillness. Ellenor relaxed her stance, her eyes on the fresh corpse. The barrier over the baby fell. The woman didn’t seem to know what to do, never having killed another sentient being in her life. She looked at her hands in awe and disbelief. She thought she should feel sad, but looking at the innocent form of the child at her feet, she felt nothing but relief. 

“Good job,” Vilkas mustered as he lumbered over, his injuries minimizing his ability to move. 

Ellenor bent down wordlessly to take the baby once more into her arms. She worked to silence its cries. This time it worked. The thing must have tired itself out. His eyes sank closed as the warmth of her gave him more of a sense of security. Too young to even recognize the carnage around him, he fell effortlessly asleep. 

“Let’s...go,” Ellenor said softly, heading towards the door. 

"You're taking the baby?" Vilkas asked after her.

"What else can we do with him?" she retorted.

Fair enough. “Don’t you want to retrieve your axe first?” he tried, but she didn’t change her course. Her father’s shield still clung to her back. She didn’t see a need to go get the weapon. Vilkas followed her dumbfounded, not used to this behavior from her. 

By now it was nighttime, and the road was dark. It was a couple hours’ walk to the city. Vilkas was the one having trouble now. He wondered why Ellenor didn’t heal him before they set off. But then, she seemed very preoccupied with the baby. He wouldn’t have thought she’d so easily fill this matronly role, but having a little helpless thing rely on her like this seemed to lift her. She didn’t fuss over her armor like before, or seem tired by the pace they walked. 

Ellenor checked back on Vilkas. It was perhaps fifteen minutes since they’d started, and he looked like he was close to collapse. She stopped, meeting his gaze.

“You’re hurt,” she said, as though she’d forgotten. “Do you need healing?” 

“Well, if you’re offering…” Vilkas said, trying to sound humored, but the pain was evident in his voice. Ellenor handed him the baby, which he seemed surprised by. The way she’d been so protective of it, he wondered why she trusted him with the creature. She would need her hands to be free, sure, but she could have set him on the ground. It would maybe have been more comfortable than the steel of his armor. 

Ellenor put a hand up in blessing, the other over her heart. She bowed her head, channeling a small healing spell. A soft and golden light streamed around his chest, twirling around and sparkling red. Some of his deeper cuts showed first signs of healing, while others would fully recover. His pain did not fully subside, but he felt good enough to walk. 

Ellenor took the baby back, and they went on their way. Vilkas was by now feeling good enough to talk extendedly as they continued.

“What you did back there...I know it wasn’t easy. Don’t worry that you used magic. What you’re going through must be enough,” he said. It wasn’t the most eloquent reassurance he could have given her, but it was more than she expected. She offered him a halfhearted smile. 

“And also, I want to...apologize,” he continued, setting her even more off her guard. He stepped up so they were walking side by side. “I haven’t been easy on you, and you didn’t deserve it. I guess I owe you an explanation...if you’ll heart it”.

She waited for him to continue, but he was looking at her as though waiting for an answer. She gave a small nod to invite him to go on.

“After your first couple of visits, I asked folks around town about you. Everyone had heard rumors about your mother and father. There were a handful of different stories, but what was sure was that they were dead through unfortunate means and you were an orphan, taken in by some religious grandmother...I was reminded of my own childhood with Farkas. He and I were left at Jorrvaskr as children. The man who took care of us, Jergen, never returned from the Great War. We dedicated ourselves to the Companions, because there weren’t many other options for us. Not that I’m saying I would change anything, but…” Vilkas paused, thinking over what he’d say next before continuing.

“My point is, being members of the Companions means a lot to me and Farkas. It’s our lives. That’s why, when someone like you kept coming along, someone I knew who was a lot like me, but didn’t seem to have what it really takes...it angered me. I wanted you to stop coming, stop trying. But you kept coming back. I thought you were just desperate for coin. You were happy to just be a maid. It made me hate you even more, like you confirmed everything I thought about you,” at this point the man stopped himself. He thought he was rambling or saying too much at once. 

He looked to Ellenor, who had slowed their pace to something more leisurely, the baby still fast asleep in her arms. She was looking at him expectantly, her blue eyes easy to see under the full moon. His heart stopped for a moment, seeing her in that moment. She was a beautiful woman, timid and sweet. But he didn’t allow those thoughts to linger. He refused to think of her that way. It wasn’t respectable of a warrior like himself. And he doubted it was something she wanted. 

“So...you hate me?” she asked, her voice so rare to hear it made him crazy to think she was wasting it to say something like that.

“No! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left it that way. I meant to say, that’s how I used to feel. But after tonight...I think I’m beginning to understand you. We’re more alike than I thought, only you’ve spent your life learning magic instead of using a sword. It’s given me a lot to think about...I, uh...don’t know what else there is to say about it. Kodlak says he wouldn’t mind having a healer around, but as for all the fire and ice...it would be a disgrace to the Companions who came before us. There are traditions that must be upheld, is all,” Vilkas said, seeing that Ellenor was looking confused now. She wasn’t sure where this was coming from. 

“Why are you saying all of this?” she asked. 

Vilkas sighs, saying, “Surely you realized that you’re here tonight as a test? Kodlak has been looking for an opportunity to really see what you can do when you’re in the right situation. Maybe see you use something other than magic. I sensed that was his intent when he sent us here. When we get back there, after we deal with what just happened, there will be a meeting. Ellenor, I’m not making any decisions tonight. Not on my own. It’s up to all of the Companions whether you join or not--and it has to be unanimous, given the unique circumstance--”

“I guess that what I’m really saying is...since I’ll have to tell them you relied on magic...don’t get your expectations up,” he said with heartbreaking finality.


	7. Initiation

It was very late when Ellenor and Vilkas made it to Whiterun. The infant in Ellenor’s arms had woken and put up a fuss here and there, but mercifully remained calm for most of the journey. As they entered the gates, the two travelers looked at one another. 

“We should inform the Jarl of what happened back there before we go to Jorrvaskr,” Vilkas said, “Maybe he’ll have an idea of what to do with the baby”.

Ellenor peered up at the towering head of the city. Its windows glowed orange from the fires lit within, while the rest of the homes below it were relatively dark. Only the streets shared a similar light to Dragonsreach, for purposes of security. But even seeing that the place was alive wasn’t enough to convince Ellenor that the jarl would be awake.

“Perhaps we should go to the guard first,” Ellenor suggested, “I don’t know that the jarl will appreciate being woken up, baby or no”.

Vilkas nodded in agreement, leading the way to the nearest guard to ask for whoever was in charge for their shift. The guard recognized Vilkas, and so had no problem meeting his demands. Surely a member of the Companions had some worthwhile news for the captain. 

Ellenor held the child closer to her chest, doing her best to swaddle him. He’d been wrapped in a blanket when they found him, but it was coming apart now, and she’d never dealt with children let alone a little infant. She watched his wrinkly face twist and contort in his light slumber. He sighed then, and seemed to come to a conclusion. He was not content anymore. His eyes opened and looked around before he saw that he was still with these strangers, and more. He started wailing at the indignity of it, squeezing his eyes shut again and turning red.

Ellenor did her best to calm him, but he continued to cry through the streets. Now her face was red. She hoped he didn’t wake anyone. The men didn’t seem concerned, though they did check back to see what was going on once or twice. 

Finally they reached the captain’s post. She was leaning up against the city wall, watching the group approach with practiced caution. She unfolded her arms as they neared, her red, Dunmer eyes studying them all in turn.

“What’s this?” she asked, “Don’t tell me you caught two of the Companions trying to kidnap an infant, because that’s all I can think of to explain this entourage.” 

Ellenor was surprised by hearing her mention that they were both Companions, mostly because she didn’t consider herself one, but also because she’d hardly ever been outside of Jorrvaskr. It made her a little uneasy, wondering how she could know. 

Vilkas stepped forward to answer her.

“I almost wish that were the case,” he started, “because the truth of the matter is far worse”. 

And so Vilkas gave the captain a short summary of what had gone down, enough detail that she knew the story was true, but leaving parts out for the sake of brevity and clarity. The captain’s brow furrowed deeply. Her eyes stared at the ground as she digested the information. Her voice was very low when she spoke again.

“From the description of the assassin’s armor...you don’t think...surely it couldn’t be…?” she asked, almost pleading. 

“It sounds like the Dark Brotherhood, doesn’t it, Captain?” the other guard insisted.

“Aye,” answered the captain, “And it makes no sense. But for now this is officially business of the Whiterun Guard. We may call on you later for information about the farmers, like who in Oblivion would want them dead. As for the infant, hand him to me. I’ll see to him personally”. 

Ellenor hesitated to hand over the child, whose little hand was gripping onto her shirt. His bright eyes were glued on the Dunmer, with his mouth open dumbly. Was this the first one he’d ever seen? It was likely he had barely lived a day outside of his crib or that little farmhouse in the plains of Whiterun. He cooed, moving his legs in a jumping motion as though trying to get out of Ellenor’s arms and take off on his own to inspect the captain closer. But Ellenor clung to him. 

“It’s alright,” said the Dunmer woman softly, “I promise he will be safe”. 

Ellenor still didn’t budge. That wasn’t what she was worried about. It was what might happen to him as he grows older. He may be mistreated. He may never be adopted. Or worst of all, he may be adopted by someone cruel, cold...absent. 

Tears were forming in her eyes as she handed him over. Whatever the case, he had to go. He couldn’t go to Jorrvaskr with her, no matter how painfully her heart hurt for him. The captain gave her a sympathetic look and put a hand on her shoulder.

“You’ve made the right choice, remember that,” she said before turning to the road and disappearing with the little baby. 

The guard had nothing more to say to them, so he left for his post. The two were left on their own again. Vilkas let out a heavy breath, sensing the weight on Ellenor’s heart. He stood with her silently a moment, feeling somewhat nervous as he tried to think of something to say to her. 

“He’ll be okay,” Ellenor said, catching Vilkas off guard. His shoulders relaxed as he felt the relief of the silence being broken. 

“Yes, he will be,” he confirmed, offering her a solid pat on the back for comfort. It was the best he could do. 

The two returned home to Jorrvaskr, less chipper than they should have been. They were met by the other members of the Circle, who had been awaiting their arrival. Kodlak stood, a big smile on his face before he realized the two entering were not in the same mood. His face fell solemn, as with all the others. 

“Well?” He asked, cutting to the chase so not to burden already heavy minds. 

Vilkas nodded. “Let’s go”. 

With that, Kodlak, Vilkas, Farkas, Aela, and Skjor filtered out toward the back, exiting to the training yard behind the hall. Ellenor wasn’t told to, but she got the feeling she was meant to follow, and so she did. The others formed themselves into an arc, facing her. This was the moment, she thought, the moment she’d been waiting for all this time. The moment that should make her so happy, and put a big proud smile on her face. But she couldn’t muster one, not even a polite smile to Kodlak as he spoke.

“Brothers and Sisters of the Circle, today we welcome a new soul into our mortal fold. This woman has endured, has challenged and has shown her valor. Who will speak for her?” He said.

Vilkas stepped forward, looking toward Kodlak. “I stand witness to the courage of the soul before us,” he answered.

Ellenor felt a pang of guilt. He’d told her. He’d told her this was a decision of the Circle, to let her in if she can prove even the slightest bit useful without her magic. But she’d failed that. She’d used magic.

“Would you raise your shield in her defense?” Kodlak continued. 

They didn’t even discuss it. They didn’t ask if she’d used magic. Why were they letting her in? Was this pity? She sunk in her spot, ashamed of who she was more than ever in that moment. 

She didn’t realize she was looking at the ground until Vilkas’ hand gripped her shoulder firmly. She looked up in surprise, meeting his gaze.

“I would stand at her back, that the world might never overtake us,” he said, answering Kodlak while assuring her. 

The rest of the words faded behind her ears as she considered what was being said. None of it was a lie, was it? Vilkas didn’t seem to think so. He made the extra gesture just to prove it. She wondered if it was inappropriate, but the other members of the Circle didn’t seem bothered by it. 

“Then this judgment of this Circle is complete. Her heart beats with the fury and courage that have united the Companions since the days of the distant green summers. Let it beat with ours, so the mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call,” Kodlak finished. 

“It shall be so,” chimed in the rest at different intervals. 

Vilkas let her go as the others went back inside. They were undoubtedly ready for bed. Kodlak offered her a congratulations before retiring himself, telling her to get some good rest then seek him out in the morning. She stood alone with Vilkas once more. 

“Welcome to the Companions,” he said, “It’s about time, right?” 

She shook her head. “It isn’t right,” she finally spoke up. “I don’t deserve it”. 

“No one would’ve let you in if you didn’t deserve it,” Vilkas corrected. “You were brave tonight. You fought even when it was uncertain what would happen. You dove unrestrained into danger for the sake of others. And you took that baby, not knowing what you’d do with him, only knowing he had to be taken”. 

Her mouth hung agape as she thought up some argument, but Vilkas continued.

“What you said the other day—about...offering your hands or whatever—you offered us all you could. You did away with your other life, leaving no hope of returning to it, because it wasn’t what your heart wanted. That passion was what convinced the others. They were all ready to let you in. The truth is…” he stopped himself, unwilling to let the rest out. He looked physically pained by it.

Ellenor looked to the man expectantly, and he mentally readied himself, promising with his eyes that he would let it out. 

“I was the one who was keeping you out. I was what stood in your way, and it was me alone. You weren’t convincing Kodlak or any of the Circle tonight. It was me you were proving yourself to. So what I said about not making any decisions alone...that was a lie. I’m sorry,” he confessed, not breaking eye contact as he spoke.

Ellenor didn’t choke up or look shocked. It wasn’t a surprise to her at all, nor did it hurt her. What mattered was that she had proved herself worthy of being a Companion to the man who had fought her from day one.

“So...can I keep using magic?” She asked. 

Vilkas wasn’t expecting this, at least not after his apology. “You can...use it in moderation,” he answered, “the thing is, there aren’t hard and fast rules with the Companions. What we do is mostly based on tradition. We have no leader and everyone is their own warrior. The true ‘rule’ is as long as you fight valiantly and with honor...anything goes. But magic has always felt like another ‘rule’. We don’t use magic in the Companions. I’ve sent many would-be new bloods away saying that exactly. But you, Ellenor, you’re proving to us that the rule may be flawed. Maybe, anyway…” 

“So…?” Ellenor prodded.

“Yes, for the time being. But try to keep it...less flashy. Maybe stick to healing when you can. An ice spike here and there, sure. We’ll be working that sword arm so you can keep up appearances and be our secret weapon. Don’t want the ones we’ve sent away to come back asking hard questions, do we?” Vilkas continued more lightheartedly. 

“One mage is enough to handle, is it?” Ellenor teased, earning a sigh from Vilkas.

Vilkas didn’t answer, only shook his head and gestured inside so that they might go and put the day behind them.


	8. Day One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellenor's first mission as a Companion, and a lesson on why you always should have a shield-sibling.

The next morning arrived and Ellenor did what she was told the night before. For some reason Kodlak had asked her to come see him at dawn. 

 

“It can wait for the morning,” were his exact words. “But it is important”. 

 

And so around mid morning Ellenor was sitting at the dining table near the old man, watching him eat his breakfast. In between bits of egg and some kind of gamey meat, he spit out these words:

 

“Today, Ellenor, you will be embarking on a mission all on your own,” he said.

 

Vilkas interrupted at this point, even though he’d been pretending not to listen in on the conversation. 

 

“Master! You can’t seriously expect her to survive a trial like that so suddenly,” he interjected.

 

“Vilkas, what have I told you about that ‘master’ nonsense? And you haven’t even heard what the task is,” Kodlak replied coolly.

 

“What is my task?” Ellenor asked, surprising both of them. 

 

Vilkas kept quiet, giving her the respect of making the decision for herself. For the moment.

 

“There is an old woman living in a shack near Riverwood who says some wolves have been getting too close to her home for comfort. She’d like us to take care of them. Sound like something you can handle?” Kodlak explained.

 

Ellenor immediately nodded her head “yes”. 

 

“Good. If you can finish this task relatively smoothly, feel free to go to the others for more work. I just wanted to be sure your first job on your own was...appropriate,” Kodlak said, finishing his meal, “Does that sound alright to you, Vilkas?”

 

Vilkas straightened. “Of course,” he said, “I understand, Harbinger.”

 

“Can’t keep her scrubbing the floors when she’s a Companion now, can we?” Kodlak continued as if reinforcing a point.

 

“No, we can’t,” replied Vilkas with a bit of grit on his teeth.

 

Ellenor stood to level with Vilkas, placing a hand on his shoulder as he’d done the night before.

 

“I will be okay,” she said, her voice already taking on a rasp for the day. 

 

He nodded in response, though he didn’t seem sure of it. His opposition seemed more out of genuine concern than frustration, and he couldn’t seem to let it go. But Ellenor was excited for this chance. No one to watch her. No one to see her use magic. It would be a simple task. She’d had to run wolves off of her farm before. 

 

After getting more details from Kodlak, Ellenor was off. It was a short trip to Riverwood, and one that she thoroughly enjoyed. The road between there and the city had always been one of her favorites, even if it was uphill part of the way. On that day, the birds were singing, the flowers grew abundantly by the roadside, and the trees swayed contently over her head. The wind carried a bit of spray from the river, keeping her face cool as she made her way in the set of armor Vilkas had gathered for her. 

 

Her thoughts went to Vilkas then. His attitude toward her was definitely changing. She thought long about whether her attitude toward him was changing as well. At first, she’d seen him almost as a bully, a brick wall between her and her dreams. But really she’d always known he had a reason. Besides not being worthy of the Companions, he didn’t want her to get hurt. At least, that seemed to be his motivation that morning. Her cheeks went red wondering what that meant. 

 

But there wasn’t much time for her to consider it further, because by then she’d reached the elderly woman’s shack. It was smaller than Ellenor had imagined it. Some herbs were hanging to dry outside. There were a couple barrels along the outermost wall, probably holding the usual produce. There was a small porch where the woman sat, seeming to have been waiting for her help to arrive. 

 

She wore a black robe with the hood down, revealing her wrinkly but kind face. 

 

“Oh hello, dear,” she said, standing. 

 

“Hello. I’m here about the wolves…?” Ellenor said, thinking only after the fact that she should say she’s a Companion.

 

“Yes, yes, of course you are. I don’t get many visitors out here,” the old woman said with a smile. 

 

“So...where’s the wolves?” Ellenor asked.

 

“Well,” the woman started, “they usually stay up in the hills during the day, then come down at night. There’s lots of tracks around if you care to follow those”. 

 

Ellenor took pause, because she didn’t think she’d be hunting down the creatures. But if that was what the mission called for, she decided it had to be done.

 

Following the old woman’s direction as much as she could, she managed to find a clear set of what she thought were fairly fresh wolf tracks. And so Ellenor set off, however partly blind, to find the wolves. 

 

At first the tracking was fairly easy. Down by the river, the dirt was soft. There was plenty of foliage that was broken and easy to see something had gone through. But once they reached higher elevations and strew further away from the water, the ground grew harder and supported less and less plantlife. Eventually the trail all but disappeared in the snow caps. Not to mention trekking up a mountain had been no small toll on Ellenor’s energy. 

 

With labored breath and tired legs, Ellenor continued after the trail the best she could. But there would be spots she had to stop and study all around to see where the next sign of travel was, and even then she wasn’t sure if it was from the wolves or not. There may be the broken ice of a frozen puddle, or a small stone overturned to show fresh dirt. She started to worry she was seeing things that weren’t clues at all, but merely part of nature, such as broken sticks or disturbed patches of grass. 

 

Ellenor didn’t realize she was following a long pattern, which was made by design to throw off trackers. These wolves were cunning, or at least smart enough to outwit the likes of Ellenor, who had never done anything like tracking prey in her life. Even if she found herself on the right path at times, she wasn’t moving fast enough to ever hope to catch the wolves before they moved past her and terrorized the old woman again. 

 

Time began to escape her. She was so fixated on finding the wolves, she didn’t actually pay attention to where she was going. She ignored the hunger pains from her stomach. She couldn’t return to Jorrvaskr without finding those wolves. Damn whatever consequences may come, she had to put her task before herself.

 

It was far colder in those mountains. Ellenor could feel her fingers stiffen from the chill. She watched her breath form clouds in front of her. As the sky was tinged the slightest orange, she finally thought she should turn back, and only then did she realize how dire a situation she’d gotten herself into. Although she’d lived in Skyrim all her life, she’d never spent much time in the mountains. If it got much darker and she wasn’t on her way back down by then, there was a great chance that she’d freeze to death. Nord blood or no, no one could survive a night so high up without proper gear or shelter. Especially if a snowstorm started up. 

 

Soon there was no choice. Ellenor had to abandon her trail and start descending, no matter where she turned up. She could probably figure out where she was and return to the old woman’s shack to fight the wolves there. 

 

Ellenor began the trip down the mountain, just as flurries started to manifest around her. A steady snow began to fall, but it didn’t worry her. Once she got low enough, the weather would clear. But as the clouds rolled overhead, she lost light exponentially, until it was almost like night. Though the snowfall didn’t get any heavier, the cold held a stronger bite against her skin. And for some reason, she got the faintest feeling that she was being watched.

 

She hastened her pace, ignoring the stinging in her toes as the snow melted through her boots. She folded her arms into her chest, tucking her fingers. The mountaintop began to feel hollow. It was far too quiet. If it wasn't for the sound of wind around her, she would have been able to hear her blood flowing. It reminded her of just how alone--and vulnerable--she was. And at that moment, a covered stone caused her to trip.   


 

When she picked herself back up, pushing the wet hair from her face, something made her freeze. 

 

A low growl from behind. 

 

She turned, just in time to see a shadow pounce at her. She jumped to the right, falling to a knee and readying her hands. This sense of readiness must have resonated with the others. 

 

The wolves came at her, two from the front and one from behind. It was a small pack, likely a splinter from the main group. Ellenor was up in time for the backer to sink his teeth deep into the back of her thigh. She cried out, and without thinking sent a spike of ice through its skull. 

 

The other two pounced on her at once, sending her toppling over their dead friend. One bit into the armor over her arm, while the other went straight for her face. She tried to grab at it before it found its target, and succeeded for the most part, but the wolf proved stronger as he locked on to her fingers and started shaking his head, tearing the skin to shreds. 

 

Ellenor writhed, tears falling from her eyes at the excruciating pain. She’d never felt the likes of it before. Both of her hands exploded in fire, engulfing the one wolf’s head in flame while the other went running with its pelt alight. She stayed on the ground, in between two dead wolves, rolling over on her stomach as she gripped her left wrist, barely able to move the mangled fingers of that hand. She heard the runaway wolf howl in the distance. 

 

A cry for reinforcements. 

 

She had to get on her feet and move. The mage tried even faster now down the hill, not caring that she couldn’t see past the snow or the dark. The adrenaline kept her from noticing the cold, or the pain in her thigh and hand. She hobbled down the slope, managing to keep her footing. She didn’t look back to see if anything was in pursuit, only focused on moving forward. 

 

Ellenor thought she could see something moving ahead, far down the mountain. As it grew closer, it was undeniable. She stopped in her tracks. It was a wolf, sprinting at unbelievable speeds straight for her. She prepared herself to attack. She wouldn’t let anything get the upper hand on her again. She launched an ice spike, but the creature was still too far for the projectile to hit. The animal wasn’t fazed. It seemed to increase its speed, even. 

 

She put her left hand with the other, outstretching her fingers as much as she could, biting back the pain that made it past the wall of stress on her mind. She waited. The wolf charged on, growing in size. By Ysgramor, the thing was huge. It was bigger than the others she’d fought, and it was alone. It must have been the alpha. Nevertheless, she stood strong. It was the only option.

 

Once it seemed to be just close enough, Ellenor launched an even more powerful shard of ice at the creature, the knockback from the spell sending her off balance. But the thing hit. She could hear a yelp from the wolf, and for a moment it stopped. By now she could see its outline fairly clearly. Enough moonlight slipped between the clouds that she got a glimpse of the creature...as it stood on its hind legs, its form revealing itself to be almost humanoid.

 

This was no mere wolf.

 

It stared at her, its ear twitching once before being shrouded again by darkness. But she could see it was back on its fours, moving toward her with even greater urgency. Ellenor’s heart quickened. She felt like she was underwater. The wind disappeared from her ears, the environment around her was merely a thought, and her body felt submerged as she watched the thing with glass eyes.

 

Its body was dark and heavy with muscle, its fur was patchy but looked coarse enough to deflect almost any climate. Its eyes were like Oblivion. And it launched itself at her with so much power, she felt her life was over the second its feet left the ground. She closed her eyes, ready for whatever was next, and was surprised to be alive the next second. 

 

A great warmth passed her overhead. She opened her eyes to see nothing in front of her. Just then, everything rushed back like water through a broken damn. There was a terrible roar behind her, and the sound of bones cracking and flesh tearing. Hot blood hit the back of her neck, and she felt the air around her again. She spun around, seeing four wolves attack the werewolf at once, as it tore apart an already dead fifth member of the pack. 

 

Ellenor felt her heart sink. The sight was enough to make her feel bad for the wolves. It seemed such an unfair way to die, at the hands of such a terrible creature. But her body’s instinct to save itself came first. She ran. Fast. Faster than she’d ever run before. She didn’t dare lose her footing, she didn’t look back, not even when another blood-curdling howl pierced through the night behind her. She found herself huffing as she ran for her life, and began to cry for help. But Ellenor was alone in those mountains, except for the wolves and other creatures of the night.  


 

Finally she pierced the veil of the storm, the snow slowly disappearing. She was deep in some woods, which she recognized from very long ago. She was on the East side of the mountain, just on the border of Falkreath hold. If she would continue East, she’d come upon a road she could take to Whiterun. But now that she was relatively safe, at least seeing that nothing had chased her, her body allowed itself to feel the effects of blood loss. She felt the area of her back thigh. Luckily the wolf hadn’t managed to tear any part of the leg clear off or hit any major arteries, but it was too painful to put weight on. 

 

Ellenor stopped to heal herself. She sat herself down and raised her hands, palms facing in. A golden light spilled down from her open fingers, followed by streams of red. The magicka from her left hand lingered a moment before joining the right in passing the rest of her body, stopping any bleeding and forming the beginnings of scars. The blood loss would have to correct itself over time, but as for now she was well enough to travel. 

 

She found the road, and headed for Whiterun, the only thing holding her back now being pure exhaustion.

  
  
  


Ellenor wasn’t sure what she’d tell Kodlak. She climbed the steps to Jorrvaskr thinking she’d just go straight to bed and worry about it in the morning. She was quite late again, and so expected no one else to be up. But when she opened the door, she was surprised to see Farkas and Aela arguing in the mead hall. 

 

“I don’t know where he is, Farkas, but I’m sure he’s OK,” Aela said.

 

“He’s never gone anywhere without telling me about it first,” Farkas retorted.

 

“Maybe he’s finally found a part of his life that’s worth keeping secret. Maybe he’s got a nightly friend,” Aela continued, ignoring Farkas’ obvious concern.

 

“I think your wrong,” he said plainly.

 

Ellenor shook her head. “What’s going on?” she asked as she closed the door behind her.

 

Aela took her chance to head for the stairs. “Nothing’s going on, Ellenor. Farkas is just being over-protective,” she explained.

 

“That’s not it. I can feel something’s wrong! I can’t see how you don’t,” Farkas said.

 

“Please, Farkas, Vilkas would have told us if he was going to do anything dangerous. He’s always been good at thinking things through and making sure he’s covered. Stop worrying and get some sleep,” Aela said as her parting words before descending the stairs.

 

Ellenor looked to Farkas, who had a look of pure desperation on his face. 

 

“Aela thinks Vilkas is fine on his own, wherever he is, but I don’t,” he said, his voice almost cracking, “I know my brother. And I know he’s in danger”.

 

Ellenor approached him, looking him in the eye. 

 

“Where is he?” she asked, her heart forgetting the body’s need for sleep.

 

“That’s just it, he didn’t tell me. His armor is all here, too. Aela thinks he’s with a lady. But Vilkas would have told me if it was a lady”.

 

“What else could it be?”

 

Farkas moved in, lowering his voice. “The only reason he wouldn’t wear his armor is if he was planning to be in his other form. Y’know…”

 

Ellenor nodded in understanding. Farkas was talking about the werewolf form. Her stomach turned to lead as something clicked. Despite having no energy left, despite having gone through enough battles for the day, Ellenor's night wasn't over yet. She felt her muscles brace themselves for their next moves.  


 

“Farkas,” she said, “I think I know where he is”.


End file.
